


All Who Are Hungry

by CenozoicSynapsid



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, הגדה של פסח | Passover Haggada
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jewish, Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Crack Crossover, Gen, Song Parody, The Two Towers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:10:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CenozoicSynapsid/pseuds/CenozoicSynapsid
Summary: “Do you remember, Sam, how Bilbo used to start the holiday at Bag End?”Inexplicably Jewish hobbits talk about celebrating Pesach, and of course someone has to sing Chad Gadya.





	All Who Are Hungry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Storyteller1358](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storyteller1358/gifts).



> Your letter says no crossovers unless they are complete crackfic. I sure hope this qualifies?

“Have a bite of _lembas_ , Mr. Frodo. You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.”

Frodo looked doubtfully at the wafers in their wrapping of leaves.

“By my reckoning, it’s the first night of Passover in the Shire calendar. Do you think we ought not to eat it? I suppose we have no other choice.”

“If that’s what’s bothering you, you needn’t worry. I asked them how it was made in Lothlórien, and they told me it had no grain in it. ‘You would not be able to bake it yourself, Master Samwise’, they said, all high and solemn-like, and I daresay they were right, though they put it a bit sharp.”

Frodo reached out his hand for the little packet of leaves, but sat for a while gazing at it, and did not unwrap it.

“Do you remember, Sam, how Bilbo used to start the holiday at Bag End? He used to busy himself the whole week before, sweeping in corners and fussing over the best wines from the cellar.”

“Oh, yes,” said Sam. “And he’d never let the Gaffer lift a finger, would Mr. Bilbo. Insisted he’d do the whole thing himself, if it gave him nervous exhaustion. But how the tables did groan! And never a morsel went to waste. You remember him, don’t you, throwing open the door with a crash and crying out, ‘All who are hungry, come and eat!’ so you’d swear they’d hear it the other side of the Brandywine.”

“I think they must have,” said Frodo. “Or at least I saw a good number of Brandybucks, every year. And old Odo Proudfoot used to bring in a camp-bed, so that he could recline _properly_ , as he put it, with his feet up on the table. Bilbo liked to put him next to the Sackville-Bagginses.”

Frodo looked suddenly at his other companion. “I don’t suppose you ever had Passover, Sméagol?”

“Long ago, it was,” said Sméagol. Frodo looked at him in surprise. “Long ago, beside the river. A little goat, there was, but a little cat killed it, and there was none for poor Sméagol, none at all, my precious.”

“We like catses,” he went on, and his fingers made a strangling gesture that was horrible to look on. “But there are no catses here, no little goats, nothing but nasty _lembas_ -bread, _gollum, gollum_.”

“A little goat!” Sam exclaimed. “Was it your father who bought it? There’s a song about that, but I never knew where it came from. And it has a deal more verses than that.”

And standing up with his hands behind his back, he began:

_My father bought a little goat_  
_But little did he pay_  
_But then there came the barnyard cat_  
_And stole the goat away._

_And then there came a great gray wolf_  
_From mountains cold and grim_  
_And up he snatched the barnyard cat_  
_And made an end of him._

_My father struck the grey wolf down,_  
_His stout stick broke in half,_  
_And so he made a great bonfire_  
_And burned both wolf and staff._

_Then Anduin the mighty_  
_Poured in to quench the flame_  
_And first it sparked, and then it spat_  
_But finally grew tame._

_Then came the great bull of Araw,_  
_He had so great a thirst,_  
_He drank the river Anduin_  
_And swelled up nigh to burst._

_Then came a Ranger of the north_  
_Who bore a great yew bow._  
_He shot the great bull in the heart_  
_And laid the creature low._

_Then came the Shadow in the East—_

Sam’s voice faltered and fell silent, and his eyes strayed to the dark rim of the Ephel Dúath.

“I hadn’t remembered that part, until I came to it,” he said. “Perhaps I should leave off here.”

“I had rather you went on,” said Frodo, “ _Hard roads have happy endings_ , so they say.”

“Some do, perhaps,” said Sam, “And some end harder than they began. But I’ll sing if you’d like it.”

And breathing deep of the pure air of Ithilien, he began again:

_Then came the Shadow in the East_  
_Who forged the ranger’s doom_  
_And bound him as a strengthless shade_  
_In an eternal tomb._

_Then came the One who with His song_  
_All goodly things has wrought._  
_Before him must all Shadows flee_  
_And evils come to naught._

“And so I hope they shall,” said Sam, “But I shouldn’t call myself confident.”

“Confident? No,” said Frodo. “But there must be greater powers than— than _him_. We are not lost yet, Sam, and if ever we come to Bag End again, and hold our feast there, you shall sit at the head of the table, and I’ll pour your wine and cut your meat with my own hand.”

“And you too, Sméagol,” he went on suddenly. “If you’ll have it, though perhaps you will not. _All who are hungry_ means _all_ , if it means anything.”

“We likes meat, yes, nice Master, so tender, so tasty,” said Sméagol, smacking his lips. “But Sméagol won’t go to feasts, won’t drink nasty wine with hobbitses. Alone, all alone in the forests he is, and no little goatses anymore.”

“Perhaps there will be yet, in time to come,” said Frodo. “ _Next year_ , so say the Books of Lore: _this year slaves, next year free; this year in exile, next year in the court of the King, where the White Tree flowers evermore.”_

“ _Next year_ , they’ve said, since I was a lad no higher than a rolling pin,” said Sam. “And I never saw no king, nor White Tree neither. But then, I’ve never been in exile before either, eh, Mr. Frodo?”

“Nice hobbitses finished talking?” hissed Sméagol. “Yellow Face is sleeping. Time to go on.”

They shouldered their packs. The mountains had faded from sight, leaving only a black space in the eastern sky in which no stars glittered. Through the glades of Ithilien they walked in silence, and league by weary league drew closer to the Land of Shadow.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My second choice was the Entish Seder, in which Magid is recited entirely in Old Entish.


End file.
